


Like a Storm

by Jael



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Bad Weather, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Nightmares, Smut, Trope-y Goodness, distraction, smut with feelings, start of a relationship, stuck in a storm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 08:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17978261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael/pseuds/Jael
Summary: When Sara and Leonard are stuck in a cheap motel during a bad windstorm, it brings out some bad memories for Sara. Leonard could be a nice distraction...but he has some things to say, first.





	Like a Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Smut with feelings and my beloved "stuck in a storm" trope! You've been warned. Set in a 'verse where the mission to kill Savage dragged out, Sara and Leonard didn't have that "me and you" conversation, no one died at the Oculus, and they've been slowly circling each other all this time. Until now.
> 
> Many thanks to LarielRomeniel for the beta!

They’d had to take shelter from the windstorm, that much was obvious. Still, Leonard thinks as he lies with his hands folded behind his head, studying the plain and slightly water-stained ceiling, he does wish they’d been able to find somewhere a little more…sturdy.

The wind lets out another mad howl and the whole building shakes, a whistling noise emitting from the room’s windows. Len sighs, then turns over on his side to regard Sara, who’s sprawled out on the other bed in the cheap motel room. She’d had no trouble falling asleep, but then, she’d been the one fighting the guards on this mission while he’d simply been the one sneaking past them. She’d been pretty tired by the time they’d found even this sorry place.

They’d fulfilled their own mission and returned to the empty lot in 2019 Nickel City where they’d been dropped off, only to loiter around longer than expected, waiting for the Waverider as the winds grew worse—and colder. After it’d started spitting an icy rain—and after a cart corral at the nearby defunct store had flown across the lot, fortunately in the other direction—it’d seemed the better part of valor to take off in search of shelter.

Unfortunately, it’d been a long walk in a bitter wind, with no cars around to “borrow,” and Sara had toppled into bed nearly the moment they’d walked through the door, pulling the thin blanket around her with a mumble and closing her eyes. Leonard had hesitated, thinking she should probably get out of those cold clothes, but…Sara’s a grown-up. And he’s no mother hen.

Besides, he’s not sure he’s up for a semi-naked Sara Lance in the same room as him.

Or rather, he is. And that’s kind of the issue.

Another gust shakes the building, and something outside thumps down in the parking lot. Len sighs again.

The sun’s set now, and the room is dark, but he can see the pale trail of her hair as it lies draped over a pillow. Sara usually sleeps still and silent, something drilled into her during her time in the League, and they’ve grown close enough, as this mission to end Vandal Savage has dragged out, that Leonard knows that.

But that’s when he hears a whimper.

It’s so incongruous that he blinks, figuring that it’s another of the weird noises the building is making in the gale. But then he hears the sound again, and sees Sara twitch, curling into herself as something else—some sort of debris tumbling across the parking lot, maybe--makes a racket outside the room.

She doesn’t seem awake, but Len’s no stranger at all to night terrors…far from it. And after another second, he curses quietly to himself as he recalls what memories in Sara’s past could be triggered by a loud and howling windstorm.

She’d told him about the Gambit one late night over cards, eyes on her hand instead of on his own expression, at least for the most part. As he’d listened without pity or recriminations, though, her gaze had lifted, and her tone had become less self-deprecating and more….more like she was telling the story to someone who _got_ it. A friend, a real friend, not some crook she happened to be stuck on a timeship with.

He hadn’t known what to do with that. He still doesn’t.

Sara whimpers again, the sound pained. He should probably just pretend he doesn’t hear it.

Ah, hell.

“Sara?” he whispers, rising. “Hey, Canary.”

Another whimper, a little louder, but not like she’s heard him. Like she’s stuck in memory, maybe, as the winds rock the building and rain dashes against the window. Sara’s facing away from him, and Len circles the other bed to face her, figuring that the less she’s surprised, the better. He hesitates, then reaches out, though he stops before he touches her shoulder. He is, if nothing else, a survivor, and this might be an excellent way to end up with a face full of knives.

“Assassin,” he says quietly instead, leaning down a little. “Hey. You’re OK. Wind’s just being a sonuvabitch.”

As if in agreement, there’s a really loud groan as gust meets ancient roadside motel. Sara makes a gasping noise, but her eyes don’t open, and her shoulders hunch as if she’s expecting a blow. Her arms, crossed in front of her, tighten, and she whimpers again. Her nails are digging into her arms. If they dig in much more, she’s going to hurt herself.

A lifetime spent walking away tells him to do it again here. Sara will be fine. Eventually, she’ll wake from whatever nightmare is gripping her. She might have some marks on her arms, but that’s hardly a big deal. Not her first scars, not her last. Len has worse. So does she.

The wind keens outside, then, and Sara shudders again. She mumbles in her sleep, voice breaking on words Leonard can’t quite understand.

He hesitates again, then sits down carefully on the bed, about an arm’s length away, and ponders a moment. But then the building shakes again, and the wind roars, and Sara cries out, and before he can think about it too much, Leonard reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder.

“Sara,” he hisses, worried and trying not to show it. “Wake up!”

And her eyes do fly open, but the Sara he knows doesn’t seem to be in them. It’s like there’s someone else looking out, someone young and terrified—the girl from the Gambit, before Lian Yu, before the League, before the Pit. One of her hands flies up to grab his wrist like it’s a lifeline, and before Leonard knows it, he’s sprawled on the bed next to her as she lets out a sob, a noise full of such anguish that even a hardened, cynical, good-for-nothing crook like himself can’t turn his back on it.

Not when it comes from Sara, anyway.

 He’d removed his jacket and boots earlier, but nothing else, and he somewhat uncomfortably shifts toward her, awkwardly arranging himself closer but not too close. Sara doesn’t let go of his wrist and she doesn’t stop staring at him, but he still gets the strong impression that it’s not him she’s seeing at all. Not him, and not this barren room.

“Hey,” he says quietly again, trying to steer his mind toward easing Lisa through night terrors when she was young—despite the many complicated differences in the situation. “You’re OK. You’re all right, Sara. You’re not...where you think you are. You’re safe.”

Touch helps most people in these sorts of situations, right? He gently, tentatively squeezes her shoulder, where his hand still rests, and feels her own hand tighten as he does so. Sara blinks and Len awkwardly shifts a little closer, letting her feel his presence and warmth.

“It’s just the wind,” he tells her. “It’ll pass.”

Something seems to click. Sara lets out a long, low sigh, closing her eyes, then opens them again.

“Len,” she breathes, sense coming back into her eyes, which then flick from side to side wildly, as if she’s confirming her returning memories—that she’s here, in this crappy motel, with him, not somewhere, some _when_ else.

Leonard nods in satisfaction and relief. “I think the windstorm set off some…unpleasant memories,” he drawls, as her grip on his wrist loosens and her breathing starts to calm. “Y’OK?”

Her eyes finally meet his. “It was the Gambit…and then the Pit...I think...”

He winces. The former would be bad enough, given what she’s told him, but he also knows that the occasional nightmares that evoke being buried alive are far, far worse. “Well,” he drawls, trying for rough humor, knowing pity is the last thing Sara wants, “you’re just stuck here in this shithole with me, sorry. No fun, but the company’s better.”

Sara blinks at him again. And then she lets go of his wrist and laughs, a sound that’s a little stressed and strangled but real, and Len can’t help but smirk, pleased that he’s managed to elicit it. He tilts his head down toward her without really thinking about it, studying her, as she tilts her own head up, and their eyes meet.

The spark isn’t a surprise, really. Neither of them has missed the attraction that’s there between them, though they haven’t acted on it. Len abruptly realizes that he hasn’t moved away even as she’s calmed, and Sara’s even moved a little closer, close enough that their bodies are just barely brushing. He drags in a breath, ready to make some sort of snarky comment and then pull away, but the gale outside chooses that moment to rise again, shaking things and howling so loudly that he glances involuntarily toward the ceiling.

Abruptly and completely, the lights go out, both the illumination of the few electronics in the room, the overhead light they’d left on in the bathroom, and the streetlights and signs outside. Rain, or ice, lashes against the windows suddenly, and Len glances back down then as he feels Sara shudder.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the pitch dark, but when they do, she’s peering up at him, something complicated in her gaze. And then, before he can think of something to say, she wraps her hands around the back of his head, tugs him down and kisses him. Hard.

Len’s so stunned that, for a moment, he just blinks. And Sara takes advantage of that with alacrity, deepening the kiss and opening her mouth underneath his, her tongue tracing his bottom lip before it seeks further entrance. Meanwhile, her body, strong and supple, molds itself to his, and she throws one leg over his own, pressing him closer.

His body reacts before his brain does, for better or for worse, and after that first startled second, he kisses her back, his hands finding her shoulders and holding on. For the next few minutes, they just make out feverishly, there in the dark, with the wind howling overhead and the windows rattling nearby.

Eventually, Sara gasps in a breath, moving one hand, reaching down and running her fingers up under his sweater, tugging at the shirt that’s tucked in underneath it until it comes free. Len groans as her fingertips touch skin, and she seems to take that as encouragement, pulling the sweater up and taking the shirt with it, her other hand moving downward from his neck to press flat against his bare spine.

Leonard makes another noise, and Sara recaptures his lips with a hum, other hand joining the first, her blunt nails scraping against his back in a rather aggressive fashion. One of Len’s hands works its way under her own top, brushing against smooth skin and scars both, and Sara actually growls, biting his bottom lip again. She rocks her hips against him, a motion that seems almost frantic, but when Leonard breaks the kiss and pulls his head back to look at her, her eyes are closed, her brow furrowed.

Before he can say anything, though, she shakes her head roughly and lifts her face toward him, eyes just slits as she lunges for his mouth again. Her hands move to his pants, scrabbling for the button in front, copping a rather thorough feel in the process. And he’s already rather obviously into this, and that just exacerbates it, especially as she manages to pop the button, undo the zipper, and start pushing his jeans down, hands curving possessively around his ass, but….

He cares for Sara Lance.

He _wants_ Sara Lance.

But not like this. Not in this...frenzied, half-dreaming rush. Not when he strongly suspects she’s just desperately using him to try to drive away other memories.

While he might be content to be used in many circumstances…this is a recipe for regret. He knows that, and he’s pretty sure that so does she, somewhere in there. So even through the haze of desire, he moves his hands down and catches her wrists in a loose grip, pulling away and lifting his voice just a little.

“Sara,” he says, tone a little sharp and designed to break through. “ _Sara_.” Then, drily, “Not that I’m not into it, but this might not be a good idea.”

The moment he’d pulled away, she’d paused, blinking and looking a bit disoriented. Now, as he watches, something that’s more reasoned comes back into her eyes—followed, to his chagrin, by horror.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, pulling her hands away and shifting back. “Len, I’m so sorry.”

Crap. “No…”

Sara’s shaking her head, though, retreating. “I know you don’t even like to be touched, not really, and I just...”

OK, that’s not what he wants her taking away from this. “ _Sara_.” Then, when her eyes go his face again, he offers her a rare, real smile, hoping she can read it in the dark. “It’s all right.”

“It’s _not_ …”

Len takes a deep breath. He’s going to have to elaborate, and he’s not good at this. “You backed off the moment I showed any second thoughts, all right? That’s not the problem. I mean, my first thoughts were all over it—though I’m not sure it was my _brain_ having them.”

He sees her shake her head, but he also hears a quiet huff of amusement. Sara pillows her head on an arm and continues to watch him. It appears the ball is still in his court.

So, he meets her eyes as they lie there in the dark room, and ‘fesses up. “I just don’t want you doing something you’ll regret while you’re...not quite yourself,” he says haltingly. “When you’re just trying to distract yourself.”

Sara’s quiet a moment, and it hurts, just a little, that she doesn’t deny that that’s what she’d been doing. Still, there’s humor in her words when she speaks again.

“You think I’d regret this?” she asks, waving a hand at him, clearly meaning their activities of a moment before—and where those activities were leading. “That doesn’t seem like the Snart with the _very_ healthy ego that I know.”

She has a point. Len shrugs. “Different kinds of regret,” he points out, then pauses again. If he doesn’t handle this right, he might slam a door shut that he’d very much prefer they’d leave open.

The wind, for once, helps him out. It rattles the room again, and Sara lets out a long sigh, one that’s now more cognizant of the situation but still not happy about it. Len, still hating how awkward he’s feeling, pauses, then squirms a little closer again and reaches out a hand. Sara looks at it, then at him. Whatever she sees seems to reassure her, because she moves back toward him too, not quite relaxing but a trifle less ill at ease.

For a while, they just listen to the wind, both thinking their own thoughts, close but barely touching. Sara’s the first to speak again, her voice quiet and thoughtful.

“That’s true,” she says, and Leonard has to think back to recall his last words. “There are. But I still don’t think I’d regret it. Would…would you?”

It’s one of those moments when the wind seems to still, then, and he regards Sara as she lies there, head propped on her hand, watching him, blue eyes dark.

There’s no getting out of talking about feelings here. Not if he wants to do this right.

“I might,” Leonard says carefully after a few seconds, eyes fixed on a point over her shoulder, “if you weren’t…really yourself. Or if you weren’t really seeing…me.” He lets his gaze drift down to hers then. Every instinct of a lifetime spent protecting himself and his heart (“Don’t ever let anyone hurt you,” his own voice whispers in memory) is screaming at him to shut up. But he can’t. “Not really much the type for casual flings. Not with people I…care about.”

Sara considers him in a silence that makes him increasingly uncomfortable. He glances away again, then back, grasping for something snarky to say, something to negate the admission he’s just made. But before he can, she speaks again.

“But if I was?” she asks quietly, lowering her head to his shoulder again. “If I was seeing you, and not…my ghosts? If it was more than that?” The wind shakes the room again, but she ignores it except for an involuntary shiver, eyes fixed on his.

He can’t tell what she’s thinking. And the beating of his stupid heart sounds so loud, to him, that it seems there’s no way she can’t hear it, even over the storm. “Long as it really was…me and you.” His voice drops almost involuntarily, and he’s pleased to see Sara shiver in a way that he thinks has nothing to do with the wind. “Think we’d be too good together to make it a one-time thing.”

Sara’s lips curve. “Now, _there’s_ the ego,” she says, knowing humor in her tone.

Banter, he can deal with. “Mere truth.”

The problem with banter, though, is that both of them are too damned used to using it to dodge or disarm. Even now, it’d be far too easy to fall back on that, and Leonard, teetering on the verge of completely using up his ability to discuss feelings for the moment, considers it briefly before the wind helps him out again. It…shrieks, there’s really no better word for it…and something clatters off the window. Sara turns her face into his shoulder with a gasp, a noise that manages to be both annoyed and pained at once.

So. Enough talk. Now it’s time for distraction. Moving deliberately in the dark, he reaches out and touches her cheek gently. “Sara,” he says quietly. “Sara.”

And when she turns her head to look up at him, he leans down and kisses her.

* * *

In some ways, it’s the flip side of the frenzied kiss from earlier. Gentle, in a way, far gentler than Sara expected, somehow, from Len.  His hand shifts to cup her jaw, and he tips his head, deepening the kiss very gradually until she sighs, pausing then until she snakes a hand around his neck and, with equally gentle pressure, lets him know she wants him to continue.

But it’s also no less heated, for all its more tender nature. The spark…the conflagration…that’d been there earlier had never fully died down, at least not for Sara—and if Len’s breathing (and certain other… attributes) are any sign, not for him either. They explore each other, tasting, touching, and maybe the storm continues outside and maybe it doesn’t—Sara’s well and truly not paying attention any more.

It’s not that she hasn’t thought of this before. She has, as they’ve grown closer and their mission has dragged on. But Leonard’s so careful, so wary, and even though (or because) she’d been pretty sure they could call themselves friends at this point, she’d hesitated to try to go for more.

She needed a friend. She’d figured she didn’t need a lover—especially since she’d still been uneasy with the notion of growing closer to someone in that way. As time went on, she’d thought she’d rather like to make an overture…but the risk simply wasn’t worth it.

But then memory had grabbed her, here, trapped in this crappy motel room with the wind howling outside, grabbed her and shaken her with the force of all that old terror, and how convenient, there he’d been. She hadn’t been thinking, not really, just reacting, relieved beyond belief that it was him, the teammate who might _get_ it, the one who wouldn’t parrot meaningless platitudes but might just be willing to help her forget for a little bit.

And all that was still true. But Sara hadn’t realized that Len, too, might want more.

She realizes it now. And she wants it too.                                                  

But first, she just wants him. Not just a warm body to drive off the nightmares, to make her feel something physically so her stupid emotions won’t get involved. Him. All of it. Snark and sarcasm and a deep well of unexpected understanding. A brilliant intellect wrapped in a gorgeous body. A supposed villain who had the heart of a hero, no matter how much he’d scoff at the idea.

 Not quite what she’d once thought she’d wanted, but maybe, just maybe, what she might need.

“Methodical” isn’t a word with very sexy connotations, but holy hell, does Len make it work. It’s clear, as clear as anything is right now, that he’s bringing every bit of that meticulous, detail-oriented nature to bear as he slowly kisses his way down her neck, careful and deliberate, even as those oh-so-sensitive thief’s fingertips have worked their way around and are undoing the lacing of her top.

She must have made a noise that’s somehow different from the quiet murmurs and unstrung gasps of before, though, because he stops in the process of loosening the last lace, removing his lips from her collarbone and then looking up at her with dark eyes.

“All right?” he asks quietly.

Maybe Sara only imagines the question inside the question, but she doesn’t think so. She reaches out and rests a hand on his jaw, feeling the slight sandpaper scrape of stubble, studying a face that’s become so very important to her during the past year on the Waverider. There’s just a little tension around his eyes and his mouth, a tension that speaks of an uncertainty that’s rather unlike him—but then, neither of them had started out the day planning to be in this position.

But Sara’s just as glad they are. In so many ways, it’s about time.

“Yeah,” she says in return, answering both questions with a slight smile. “Still seeing _you_.”

The fine lines at the corners of his eyes crinkle just a tiny bit at that, and one corner of his mouth turns upward in what might almost be a smile—which slowly slides into more of a smirk, but it’s a familiar one. Sara shivers again as their eyes lock, Len’s eyes now filled with a heat and anticipation that she shares.

“Good,” he drawls, voice low and smoky and sexy as hell. “ ‘Cause I’d rather like to see more of _you_.”

Those talented fingers have done their work, and Sara shivers yet again, delightedly, as he carefully pulls her White Canary corset away, shoving it to the side, where they both promptly forget about it. His lips return to her collarbone, and Sara tangles her fingers in the black sweater he’s still wearing as he settles himself on top of her. She yanks at it even as those lips—just as talented as the fingers, she’s finding—drift rather lower, and one hand of his moves to the waistline of her pants.

“Not…fair….” she gasps, “you’re still…ahhhh…wearing far too much clothing.”

He’s a little too busy to answer…nor would she want him to, given what he’s doing to her. She usually wouldn’t really want to be so prone for an encounter like this one (though who’s she kidding, there are no encounters quite like this one) but there’s just…something…about his warm weight braced over her right now—like an anchor against the winds still howling outside.

Just barely stifling her moans, Sara shifts a little, thrusting one knee up between his legs—which frustratingly, comes into contact with the damned tight jeans she’d been trying to get off him earlier. She growls, and that actually gets a low chuckle from Len, who pulls back far enough to reach down and help her as she tries to push the jeans off him. When they’re gone, kicked off somewhere in the dark room, he reaches up and tugs the sweater and shirt up over his head together, tossing it away before settling back down over her.

Even in the dark, it’s impossible not to see how his skin has been marred by scars, but Sara doesn’t waste any thought or time on them. She repeats her earlier motion and makes a noise of irritation as her leg encounters the fabric of his briefs, but moves it against him anyway, grinning at the solid warmth of the rather impressive erection she feels against her thigh.

Leonard groans, an unhinged sound that makes her even warmer, and looks down at her in the darkness, then ducks down to kiss her thoroughly again. One of his hands moves to the snap of her white leather pants, and Sara, kissing him back, reaches down to help, kicking the pants off as best she can—and making sure that her panties go with them. She hears Len’s quick huff of breath as he registers that, and she tilts her hips up toward him, laughing as he runs his hands up her sides before bracing himself and then…oh, oh, holy hell, they’re moving against each other, finding a rhythm even without actual penetration and…

Sara feels her breath starting to come short, and she makes a disconsolate noise, running her hands along his back to his ass and stilling him. “Not what I want,” she manages. “Len…I’m clean, and I’ve had Gideon’s magic shots…”

That gets a low hum. “Yeah, me too,” he murmurs into her jaw, before pulling back to regard her with those dark eyes again. “You…you sure?”

She’d roll her eyes if she could focus more. Instead, she just moves her hands to his briefs, pushing them slowly out of the way as his breath catches, briefly wrapping her fingers around him and stroking before moving them back to his ass.

“Please,” she whispers.

Len holds her gaze as he nods, then, still propped on one arm, slides his other hand down to slip a finger or two into her, making her gasp and move. But he moves even as she does, removing that hand, bracing himself again, shifting and sliding inside her. They both release a long breath, and Sara closes her eyes, simply registering the sensation for a moment, then opens them, staring up into Len’s dark eyes and….there’s that uncertain expression again.

How can a man with such a healthy ego be so insecure at this moment? she wonders briefly, reaching out to put a hand on his tense jaw again. But she knows, really.

If it were about planning a heist, or running a mission, or even engaging in simple, raw sex, she thinks--he’d be as smug and certain of himself as ever. But, oh, there are _feelings_ involved here, and they’ve both admitted it, and it’s untraveled territory in so many ways. So many things to damage or destroy.

She surges up to kiss him, then, before murmuring against his lips, “Knock it off, Len.”

Those words at such a sensitive moment get a slow blink of confusion, but then his lips twitch, and she knows he’s caught her meaning. “What?” he drawls in _that_ voice, the one that’s an incredible turn-on all on its own. “ _This_?” He moves his hips a little, drawing a gasp from her lips. “You want me to stop _this_?”

“Nooo..oooh…you ass…you know what I mean.” Sara closes her eyes a moment, trying to find the right rhythm again, moaning as the pleasure ripples through her. It’s been a long time. A _long_ time. Especially for more than a one-night stand with someone who’s nothing more than convenient. She opens her eyes and their gazes lock, blue and blue. Leonard’s looking just a little too serious again, so she moves her hand around to the back of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss even as they continue to move.

His breath’s starting to catch more and more, and she hears him curse as he slows a bit, fairly obviously trying to delay for Sara’s sake. But while everything feels incredible, something’s not quite…not quite.

After a moment, Sara puts a hand on Len’s right shoulder and pushes, just a little, more of a request than a demand, but he gets her meaning immediately, pausing even as she hooks a leg around him and shifts her weight—then, in a move she’s really quite proud of, flipping them smoothly, putting her on top, braced perfectly over Len, who actually chuckles as his hands go to her hips.

 Oh. Oh. Now, that’s it. She’s had her anchor, keeping her grounded in the storm. Now, she wants to fly.

As a metaphor, it’s flawed, but that is not what Sara’s thinking about right now. She moves a little with a hum of pleasure, looking down at the man who’s smirking up at her, the light in his eyes visible in the dark.

“OK?” she asks.

That actually gets a snort. Len doesn’t respond in words, instead bucking his hips up into her even as he shifts her forward a little, and Sara cries out involuntarily before narrowing her eyes at him and placing a hand flat on his stomach. She moves herself, slow and deliberate, and is pleased to see his smug expression go just a little slack with desire. Two can play this game, and what an excellent game it is.

The winds whistle again, the first time Sara’s registered them in a while, and she keeps moving, feeling warmth and pleasure build toward something as inexorable as this storm, as the thing that’s happening between them. Len keeps his hands on her hips, still the anchor, his own breath catching and speeding up as she does and he keeps the pace. It’s not very long at all before it all comes together, and she cries out again, tensing around him, the waves cresting over her even as he follows with a helpless cry.

When Sara can see again, she sighs, leaning forward even as Len leans up toward her. They kiss, long and slow and almost sweet, before Sara regretfully pulls away, rising and padding over toward the bathroom. When she returns, Len’s still sprawled right she’d left him, looking rather dazed, and isn’t that something to feel smug about?

She slips into the bed with a hum of contentment, curling up next to him and resting her head on his shoulder. After a moment, he rolls toward her, eyes studying her intently. Sara smirks at him, and that seems to be all he needs to tell himself that all’s well, and she can feel the relaxation in his body as it registers.

They just lie like that, dozing together for a while, and eventually Sara feels a bit of sun on her face and opens her eyes to see light pouring in through the gap in the curtains. The power still seems to be out, but the wind has died down considerably. They’ve made it through the night. Together.

When she tilts her head back, she can see Len watching her, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“So,” he drawls after another moment. “This is…”

Sara waits a bit after his voice trails off, then prompts him. “This is what?

“I guess that’s the question.”

She hadn’t quite expected the “what are we” conversation from Leonard, despite his earlier words. Still, better to have it now.

“What do you want it to be?” she returns, watching him. “More than a fling. A relationship? Because…I’m all right with that.” She smiles a little as he stills. “What kind of relationship…we can work on that.”

That actually elicits a smile, a slightly uncertain one as Leonard shifts toward her, looking down into her eyes again. Sara reaches out and rubs a thumb along his neck, where she’d left a bit of a mark, and he smirks before the expression fades again.

“I’m not good at...I’m not good at feelings. Or...” Frustrated, he waves a hand back and forth between them.

“Relationships?” Sara sighs. “Yeah, me neither. But...maybe that’s why we might work. With each other.” She smiles too. “And the team doesn’t need to know. Not yet.”

Leonard snorts at that as he lets his own hand move to her bare hip, where his fingertips trail over her hipbone.

“Mick will know,” he mutters, voice heavy with what seems to be a mix of amusement and resignation. “Mick always knows. But he’ll keep his mouth shut, at least around the others.”

“I can live with that.” Sara meets his eyes, trying not to shudder as those fingertips continue to explore. “Deal? We try this out? Me and you?”

“Deal.” His hand stills, much to Sara’s regret. “We should probably try the comms.”

“The comms aren’t working yet.” Sara makes a decision, moving a hand to rest over where his has paused. “Right?”

That gets a lifted eyebrow…and, after a pause, a slow “Right.” The smirk returns. “What are they gonna do? Leave without us?”

“That’s my crook.”

“Always, assassin.”


End file.
